Through the Mud and Rain
by Belle of Books
Summary: "Are you my piglet?" Mary laughs. She picks her son up from the ground and brings him to her chest and touches his mud-covered nose.


_It was Charles' idea,_ Mary stews. She hadn't wanted to go on a walk; she had estate reports to read and ideas to talk through with Tom and didn't have time to hike around the estate in the pouring rain_. It always looks like rain_, Charles had said, _we'll be fine_.

_Ha_, Mary thinks. _At least it's only sprinkling_. She looks up from the ground where she was watching her steps and realizes that Charles has outpaced her. She purses her lips, raises her skirt, and starts to walk faster. Ahead, Charles pauses in his walk and starts laughing. Mary tilts her head and stares at him in curiosity, her heart skipping a beat against her will.

Charles has leaned his head toward the young blond boy in his arms, and she can see him whispering in the boy's ear and pointing into the distance. As she gets closer, she can hear her son's childish giggles.

"What are you two doing?" she asks. She tries to look stern and displeased and rests her hand on her hip. Charles pulls George closer to his chest and rests his chin on the boy's head. He smirks at her, and she can see his eyes sparkle at her and knows that her fake anger is pointless.

He tilts his head and shifts George so Mary can see him. "Hmmm, Georgie boy," he gives a crooked smile. "Doesn't Mummy look pretty in the rain?"

George laughs in agreement and holds out his arms toward Mary. Mary grabs George in a gentle embrace and takes a deep breath. She looks up at Charles and sees his eyes grow tender at the sight of the two of them. She straightens her spine and gives George back to Charles.

"This was your brilliant idea, so you're going to carry him," she announces.

Charles laughs. "We both know that you barely argued when I suggested we go for a walk and that he could walk if you didn't insist on his clothes remaining clean."

Mary rolls her eyes and starts walking again. She starts making her way down the hill, cautiously stepping on the damp grass beneath her feet. She looks up and watches the cool, grey mist crawling across the valley.

As she watches the gloomy beauty of her countryside, suddenly, the sky opens up even further and torrents of rain begin to fall.

Mary tightens her jaw, sighs, and rolls her eyes in exasperation. _Of course_. She looks into the distance and sees the grey forms of the Abbey ahead of her. _Just across the land_, she thinks, _and I can ignore Charles, send George for a bath and a nap, and I can sit and work with a hot cup of tea. _She resettles her hat on her head and keeps moving down the hill, steadfastly ignoring the man behind her.

As she reaches the bottom, she stops looking at the ground and looks up at the dark clouds above her, feels her foot slip on the damp ground. _Oh god_. And down she goes.

Mary catches herself on her arms, freezes, feels her wrists swiftly sinking into the muddy sludge.

"Mary!" she hears Charles exclaim. He moves in front of her, he and George looking down at her with matching looks of concern. She looks up at them, knows she must look a fright. She sits up, wrings the globs of mud off her fingers, and looks at her muddy hands.

Mary hears a giggle. She looks up in indignant shock and sees Charles looking at George in surprise. She stares at George's baby face, his golden hair darkened and plastered to his forehead by the rain, his little lips curved up into a mischievous grin.

Mary tilts her head, says, "And is it so amusing to see your mother covered in mud?"

George giggles a response that Mary assumes is an affirmation. Mary makes eye contact with Charles, watches as his eyes scan her body, sees his eyebrow twitch and his eyes heat with appreciation and memories.

"Mud again, Mary?" he asks, his voice filled with amusement. "You just can't seem to get off the ground, hm?"

She bites her tongue to keep from issuing a witty retort and looks down at the mud covering her hands, returns her gaze to the boys standing in front of her. She reaches down to the ground and grabs two full handfuls of mud. She looks back up at Charles and George, and at the look in her eyes, Charles begins to back away.

"No…Mary, no!" he says, laughing, holding her son out to her as a protective barrier. Her lips tilt, she stands and reaches out her hands, flicking mud on both Charles and George; she laughs at the stunned look on their faces.

George freezes and looks like he can't decide whether to laugh or cry. Charles flips him around in his arms so they can see each other.

"Georgie boy," he says. "Did Mama just do what I think she did?"

George matches the faux serious look on Charles' face and grabs Charles' cheeks in his two chubby palms. "Yes," he answers seriously.

Charles cracks a smile and looks at George. "Well then," he continues. "I think I know what we need to do now."

George nods, still solemn. "Yes," he replies. He begins to wiggle in Charles' arms, and Charles lowers him to the ground. George crouches on the ground and puts his little hands in the wet ground. He looks up at Charles and Mary, seeking approval. Charles crouches next to George and places his hands in the mud, grabs a handful. They look up at Mary with matching grins, and her heart stops. One fair, one dark and unrelated by blood, but in that moment, all she can see is the joyful relation of two co-conspirators (_father_ and _son, _she thinks).

Mary cracks a smile, resigns herself to the approaching attack of mud. She braces herself, and _plop_. Mud all along her dress. She turns her gaze from Charles to George, laughs internally at the look of uncertainty and almost fear on the face of her son. She and Charles share a look, remember a night of mud, and pigs, and eggs. She feels an inexplicable rush of emotion and wants to share those feelings of freedom with her son.

She nods at her son and smiles. He returns it, and Mary forgets it's raining. His smile is the sun, pure joy, and brings to her mind memories too often suppressed. She loses herself in looking at her boy but shakes herself from her moment and flicks him again.

He squeals with amusement, and Charles laughs, Mary joining him in an inexplicable rush of joy.

She crouches next to George and wrinkles her nose as he rubs mud on her cheeks. She looks at her dress, knows that it is already a disaster, and sits in the mud. George plops in the mud across from her, a look of childish glee on his face.

They three sit in the mud together, flinging mud on each other, rolling on the dirty wet ground.

"Are you my piglet?" Mary laughs. She picks her son up from the ground and brings him to her chest and touches his mud-covered nose. She looks across to Charles and sees him stare at them with a look of such complete adoration and contentment she has to look away.

The rain begins to taper off, and Mary picks herself off of the ground. "Come piglet," she says, her eyes twinkling. George pushes himself up and raises his arms. She picks him up and brings him close to her chest, ignores the mud caked on his skin. "Time to get clean again, I think."

George squirms to the ground and grabs for her hand, smiles a toothy smile at her, and reaches his other hand toward Charles.

And slowly, toddler step by toddler step, they work their way back to the house.

_Baths and naps, definitely, _Mary thinks. _And tea is definitely in order_. She snickers to herself, smirks. _And maybe some eggs. _

**A/N: I don't know what this is. It's weird, and not very polished. But I had to quickly finish something since school just started again and I just moved, and excuses, excuses. But also, First Downton Fic Ever! So happy it could be for such a fun day! Thanks LaLa-Kate for telling me about today!**


End file.
